


Routine

by X_Kartoffel_X



Series: Sharp Suits & City Lights [5]
Category: Before Crisis: Final Fantasy VII, Compilation of Final Fantasy VII, Final Fantasy VII
Genre: Before Crisis Era (Compilation of FFVII), M/M, Minor Reno/Rude (Compilation of FFVII), Rude (Compilation of FFVII)-centric, Shinra Company, Slow Build, Slow Burn, Turks (Compilation of FFVII)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-18
Updated: 2020-04-18
Packaged: 2021-03-01 21:20:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,151
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23714272
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/X_Kartoffel_X/pseuds/X_Kartoffel_X
Summary: The chiming echo of bullets hitting the other side of the container is almost deafening, as Rude watches the rise and fall of Reno’s chest, and tries to slow his own breathing, in turn. That distracting little cluster of freckles on Reno’s collarbone, just visible beneath the open collar of his shirt, catches his eye once again. He starts his breathing exercise over.Reno glances his way, and if he even noticed what had caught Rude’s attention, he doesn’t say anything about it now. “They’re really upping their game this week, yo. You think we did something to piss ‘em off?”Pulling his gaze away, and cocking his gun to check how many rounds he has left (twelve shots, not ideal, but enough), Rude shrugs. A picture of calm beside Reno’s almost-vibrating silhouette.“Exist?” He offers. Reno snorts, and takes Rude’s lead, checking the charge in his electro-mag rod. He groans.
Relationships: Reno & Rude (Compilation of FFVII), Reno/Rude (Compilation of FFVII)
Series: Sharp Suits & City Lights [5]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1023375
Comments: 19
Kudos: 76





	Routine

**Author's Note:**

> This fic is a little jump forward, from 'Lineage'. I wanted to emphasise the shift in their relationship over time; how in-sync they become, and how much closer they get to the point in my timeline where 'Contact' occurs...
> 
> And also how complicated things start to get, because boy howdy, are these guys in DEEP already...
> 
> Man, has the Remake fuelled my desire to GET THIS SERIES MOVING. Especially with the sudden INFLUX of amazing RenoRude art and appreciation oh my gosh! To any and all new readers, hello and thank you for being here! <3
> 
> Just to say, I will also be working on some Remake-centric fics - keeping this series a little more in leaning towards Before Crisis, and OG, as it will also be leading up to the events of Advent Children (and obviously there's only Part 1 of FFVIIR to go on, for now! So whilst I'll be borrowing bits from FFVIIR occasionally, I'll be largely leaning into the wider compilation still so that I don't have to wait ??? years to be able to update haha)

They both duck behind the same metal shipment container, when the spray of bullets comes hurtling towards their position, bumping shoulders as they each come around from their respective sides. There’s a huff of a laugh, when Rude glances across - taking in the sight of his partner and assessing him quickly for any sign of injury, or otherwise. Reno grins at him - hair dishevelled, and falling about his features as his signature goggles sit askew. There is nothing _truly_ amiss, bar a gleam of sweat across his brow; his eyes alight in the flickering white glow of the overhead lights, in a way that Rude has come to recognise as that special mania that he - alone - experiences on a job gone awry. An excitement. A love of chaos that he will never quite share. He tuts, tongue clicking hard against the roof of his mouth when he sees the splatter of blood across Reno’s pale skin; clearly not his own. The particular twist of his lips as that grin transforms into a smug smirk at Rude’s admonishment, is enough evidence of that.

Rude doesn’t pity whoever the blood belongs to. This is their job. Reno just happens to enjoy it more than most.

Couldn’t blame him. It would be hard for anyone to do this job, day in and day out, if they didn’t find some fun in it.

He looks wired; ready to go back out for another round - but the hail of bullets hasn’t yet ceased. 

Rude nudges Reno’s shoulder with his own.

“Don’t do anything stupid.” It is a habit of a warning, by now; the words leaving his mouth before he even thinks through the point of saying it… but, it’s a _necessary_ warning, for sure. He has seen Reno run into one-too-many one sided fights by now to know the meaning behind _that look._ Hell, he has _followed_ Reno into one-too-many one sided fights by now… and this fight, today, is a _bad one_. Attempted sabotage of a Mako shipment, awaiting transport to Junon’s weapons development team; supposedly secure and safe under the watchful eye of ShinRa’s security officers… of course, naturally, AVALANCHE had caught wind of it. Decided to try and put a stop to the shipment before it ever even left Midgar - smart tactic, Rude figures. No factory would ever be as heavily guarded as a Reactor itself (and none of those so-called do-gooders had been fool enough to try taking down a whole damn Reactor yet), and the Mako containers used specifically for transport, would be weaker than the standard Reactor's storage tanks. Easier to damage.

Of course, these AVALANCHE fighters hadn’t considered that ShinRa might have suspected their enemies would see this event as a possible weak spot; a chink in their armour. But the Turks were limited in their number, and spread thin throughout the facility, to cover more ground. Reno had suggested he and Rude handle this sector (a smaller section of the factory, near the parameter walls), because they were largely more experienced than their co-workers, _and_ because - likely due to that fact - they had been spared the least backup.

Go figure, it had been the easiest spot for AVALANCHE to hit; the easiest place to attempt to set off a chain reaction of explosions to destroy the entire factory facility, with minimal risk of getting caught. He wouldn’t be surprised if Reno had been counting on that fact; counting on Rude’s talent for explosives, too. They had located and disarmed the timed devices with ease ( _child's play_ , Rude had thought, knowing the precise structural weak points they would have aimed for to bring the whole place crumbling down), only stumbling into trouble when these apparent eco-warriors decided that, with their explosions having failed, an all-out assault was their next best choice. Their small entourage of ShinRa Security Guards had gone down almost instantly in the first hail of bullets, and the situation had gotten no more optimistic from there as they heard further chaos spreading throughout the entire facility around them.

A few punches here, some necks snapped there. They had made it this far, at least; found much-needed cover... but they were still outnumbered.

His fingers itch at his side, ready to grab onto the back of Reno’s jacket if he tries to make a break for it before they have a plan. Just in case he tries an ill-advised frontal assault, with no method in his madness. 

“Stupid might be my middle name, _partner_ , but I don't have a death wish.” It is uttered with a wry smirk thrown Rude’s way, as Reno pushes himself back - flush against the wall of the container, to take a moment to breathe. Rude almost retorts - almost - because Reno has been increasingly more daring and, one might say, careless, of late. Throwing himself bodily into situations where the odds aren’t as high in his favour, or where injury is an inevitability.

Rude had actually half expected tonight's patrol to be quiet enough that they might find the time to stumble onto _that_ conversation. Their post-midnight chats usually veering in the direction of more personal matters, over their term as Partners; a habit, it seemed. Tiredness bringing down walls that usually remained firm and upright.

Only, AVALANCHE had other plans, and the ringing of gunfire in his ears reminds Rude of that fact.

The chiming echo of bullets hitting the other side of the container is almost deafening, as Rude watches the rise and fall of Reno’s chest, and tries to slow his own breathing, in turn. That distracting little cluster of freckles on Reno’s collarbone, just visible beneath the open collar of his shirt, catches his eye once again. He starts his breathing exercise over. 

Reno glances his way, and if he even noticed what had caught Rude’s attention, he doesn’t say anything about it now. “They’re really upping their game this week, yo. You think we did something to piss ‘em off?”

Pulling his gaze away, and cocking his gun to check how many rounds he has left _(twelve shots, not ideal, but enough)_ , Rude shrugs. A picture of calm beside Reno’s almost-vibrating silhouette. 

“Exist?” He offers. Reno snorts, and takes Rude’s lead, checking the charge in his electro-mag rod. He groans.

“Runnin’ low…”

“Here.” Rude pops a spare materia out of his jacket - emerald green and shimmering with a spark of something static within - and tosses it back at Reno without pause. He figured, before they even set out for the job, that his partner would have forgotten to pack his, as he often did; left it stuffed inside his locker, forgotten. Gathering dust. He makes a mental note to just move it to his, instead. At least that way Reno would actually end up using it. Give the charge on the rod a little daily boost.

“What, you don’t need it?” Reno takes it anyway, even as he queries Rude’s decision. Pops open the materia casing on the rod, and slots it inside.

“Got one already.” He pulls another free of his jacket pocket; purple, and reverberating with energy even as he holds it steady in his hand. 

Reno snorts. “Jeez, partner, give ‘em a fighting chance.”

Rude glances towards him, letting the materia sink into his glove as he presses it down. The skin there tingles with that strange energy; goosebumps shooting up his arm from the point where the object anchors itself into place, and a buzzing sensation travelling up through his forearm, and bicep. Into his chest, and radiating through his entire body. He raises a brow, and lets one corner of his mouth twitch upwards. _Just a little._

Reno’s eyes, bright and alive, follow the motion with unmasked attention. That static energy unending inside him as he bares his teeth. “You’re one sadistic son of a bitch, yo.”

“Takes one to know one.” 

A grin in response to those words; lopsided and so familiar by now. Reno’s shoulder is warm against his, and the energy that seemed to constantly reverberate throughout his entire being, Rude can feel flowing like electricity between the two of them for where their bodies touch. The materia he had handed to Reno sparks in its place in his weapon. The effects of Rude’s own, embedded in the skin of his fist, makes his whole body thrum.

“So how’re we doing this, _Partner?_ ” And Reno’s voice is laced with a slow, pointed drawl that pairs itself with a low-lidded gaze that Rude just-

_He can't think about it_. Not right now.

He cracks his neck; shrugs his shoulders loose. Thanks whatever Gods might exist that at least Reno is asking for a plan - rather than succumbing instead to that brash, impulsive attitude that seems to be growing starker and more destructive of late. “Wait for a gap in their fire. You run for that container on the left and throw some lightning their way to distract them. Take some out.”

“Yo, then you rush ‘em whilst they’ve got their eyes on me?”

“Good thing you like to be centre of attention/”

Reno snorts out a laugh; his eyes not once leaving Rude’s. “You know me, Partner.”

“The second their firing stops-”

“I got you, Rude, don’t worry.”

And he doesn’t have to - because he _knows_ Reno has this in the bag. The moment the gunfire slows - the very breath in which it happens - Rude, his senses alight, running a mile a minute from the buzz of his Haste mateira, feels Reno’s form pull away from his own. Feels, hears, _smells_ the ozone crackle of electricity arching through the air… hears Reno’s resounding yell of a colourful expletive… and he doesn't even wait to hear the answering screams and shouts of the AVALANCHE fighters, before he darts out from behind the right side of the container with unnatural acceleration. His legs move beneath him with ferocious speed; the world around him almost comically slowed in comparison to his perception of it thanks to the boost of his materia- 

His first blow lands before any of them have even taken their eyes off the spot where Reno disappeared behind another container, having sent a crackling bolt of lightning straight at their front line. A solid punch that Rude aims for a heavily armoured chest, sends the guy tumbling over the side of the elevated platform that houses the storage containers - down into the mangled metal depths of the lower levels and its many walkways. Rude does not look to see if he survives; knows he won't.

One down, two already writhing on the cold metal grated floor from Reno’s attack; insides charred and burnt, no doubt barely alive.

Eight to go.

He counts them down like ticking off a grocery list.

Uppercut, _seven_. 

Headbutt _, six_.

Reno, suddenly landing atop the container he was meant to be taking cover behind (and Rude will always envy that dexterity and speed), sends another cracking whip of lightning into the fray; it whizzes past Rude’s hastened form, and into its targets, with a precision that is as impressive as it is deadly. Reno smirks when their eyes meet (the closest Rude will get to an apology for such a close call), and hurls himself off the top of the container. So much for the plan.

_Five, four._

Reno lands directly in front of one of the now-retreating vigilantes - and Rude swears he hears him tut, say something about ‘lack of dedication’ to their cause, before cracking them violently across the head with the rod; another electrical surge and crackle sparking in the corner of Rude’s vision.

_Three._

Another headbutt; he grabs this one’s collar before they hit the floor, and pivots on the spot - swinging them bodily into the two remaining fighters who have just attempted to open fire (sending the spray of bullets into their ally’s body, instead as it knocks them down), as his other hand reaches into the holster on his belt - pulls out the pistol Tseng had advised them all to carry-

His shoulder bumps against Reno’s - as their weapons align side-by-side - held to the features of the two remaining conscious AVALANCHE vigilantes, sprawled on the ground before them. Rude can still feel his body buzzing from the materia - the same, static charge emitting from Reno, too - emanating from where their bodies meet.

His heart rate, suddenly thumping with adrenaline, almost drowns out the buzz of the line when he brings his phone to his ear; attention not once leaving their quarry. 

“Boss, we’ve incapacitated the disruption in this part of the facility.” 

“And _how_!” Reno chimes in; voice almost manic with energy. Electricity crackles again along his arm impatiently, and one of the AVALANCHE fighters before them audibly panics.

Tseng’s voice is clear down the line. “Good work. Dispose of any excess. You only need one to interrogate.”

“Sir.”

A pause; a sigh. Tseng, Rude thinks, sounds tired; overworked in Veld’s sudden scarcity in his own role. “Make sure you _clean up_ once you have what we need. I expect a full report in the morning..”

The dial tone is the final word on the subject. Reno’s weight presses against him for a brief moment, and Rude knows he must have heard the order; a glance already telling him that his partner has been building up the energy from his materia for just such an outcome… looking down at the still conscious men at their feet tells Rude that they too, overheard at least some of the conversation, too. The fear, slowly creeping into their features as they glance between the two Turks towering over their fallen forms, is tangible as Rude pockets his phone; takes a moment to breathe, and assess the situation. 

Looks over the figures cowering before them and notes what he can; signs of rank, importance. _Usefulness._

He can hear the soldiers that he and Reno knocked down in the assault, beginning to groan into consciousness behind them… those that had survived, anyway.

Reno practically hums with excitement beside him and he knows that whoever he delivers the short straws to, will suffer in a way that no one would envy. Not when Reno is like this.

Rude, shifting his weight to the other foot and losing that connecting point that tethers Reno to his side, sighs. Adjusts his glasses, and straightens his tie, turning his back on the scene. It would be better to let Reno have this one; to let out some of that mounting frenzy. “Keep the one with the radio alive. Probably higher ranking.”

Reno doesn’t even bother responding; just launches himself at the survivors like something wild. 

Rude hears the first skull crack, and gets out his phone - hits the speed dial for Gun. 

“Hey Rude, we’re almost done here!” She sounds cheery, even over the sound of gunshots, crackling away in the background like deadly fireworks. “Just a few stragglers left - boss gave the go ahead to clean up house.” A pause in the conversation - the sounds of grunting, dull thudding of bodies against concrete. She, one of their newest recruits - Rod, and a small battalion of ShinRa Security Officers had been stationed in one of the main shipping yards; the remaining AVALANCHE members attempting to flee the scene had probably been funnelled there like rats in a maze. 

The line crackles - fewer gunshots disrupting the audio, now. “We should all go for drinks, after this.”

“Think we’ll probably go somewhere quiet.” He knows what kind of bars the other Turks tend to favour, and considering the cracking of skulls, and dull, wet thuds of bodies being beaten to bloody pulps behind him, Rude doubts that Reno would actually benefit from the additional stimulus of sparkling neon and buzzing music. “Gotta run an interrogation before we clock out.” 

She will know what that means; _exactly_ what that means. There was a certain level of dedication that went into matters of interrogating anyone in their custody - but most especially a member of a group like AVALANCHE. A certain level of theatricality involved; just to make them a little more willing to talk. A little more fearful for their prospects, should they keep their mouth shut. They would be clocking out late, for sure, and the idea of letting Reno, manic on adrenaline from this sort of job, and seething with that dark vindictive streak that seemed to be sparking worse than ever within him recently, loose on the bars and clubs of Midgar was hardly one Rude could support in earnest.

He hears the distaste, clear as day, in her tone. “So Reno’s enjoying himself, huh?”

All of them had noticed his behaviour shifting recently. Moving from enjoyment of his job to something deeper. Troubling.

Rude grunts out a response, trying to ignore the sounds coming from behind him. “Just cleaning up.”

“I don’t even want to think about the mess _that_ leaves behind.” He huffs out a quiet chuckle at that, as Gun ends the call, and he hears Reno curse as a particularly wet ‘thwack’ sounds through the room.

“Softer head than I thought, yo, _who knew?!_ ” The AVALANCHE fighter they have opted to keep alive, whimpers in response. Rude wouldn’t be surprised to find the guy had pissed himself, at this point. He figures it’s better here than anywhere they would have to clean it up; ShinRa security could deal with the mess, when they get what they need.

Pocketing his phone, Rude turns in time to see Reno deliver one last, solid hit to an already deceased body; the sound of ribs concaving inwards as his electro-mag rod makes contact with an unmoving chest, and a snort of laughter from his partner, when the lone surviving soldier yelps in fear at the sight. Reno - his face speckled with blood (a strange caricature of his natural freckles) - turns to Rude and grins from ear to ear. 

Rude quirks a brow. “Done with clean-up?”

“Trash is taken out, partner. Just gotta sit down and have a nice long talk with this guy,” Gesturing over his shoulder with his own bloodied weapon, Reno manages to make a threat against him without any effort, and Rude does not miss the way those fearful eyes follow the redheads every motion. “...unless you wanna break anythin’ on him first.”

He says it just loud enough to be heard, and with his shades on, Rude doesn’t even have to spare the guy a glance to know that he is now staring at Rude himself in horror. Somehow his size and demeanour really work for fear-factor. Something about his apparently impassive features and appearance of calm no matter the situation, he had been told… in reality, if he was them, right now, especially… he would be more afraid of _Reno_.

“Maybe a hand. Doesn’t need both.” Another whimper greets those words, and again Rude does not need to look his way to know that he is sheet-white from fear. Working with Reno like this is easy; he sets up bait for Rude to take with little to no effort, and the payoff is exactly what they need. Rod had said it was terrifying to witness; how in-sync they were. How easily effective an intimidation technique it proved to be, when someone realised that the two of them could plan your demise with scarce few words. 

Called it the _Turk Two-Step_ , and Reno had taken to the phrase like it was a badge of honour.

“Veld’s really taking this AVALANCHE threat seriously, huh?”

“Tseng’s orders, not the Director’s.” A brief frown; a small disruption to the still buzzing mania in Reno’s demeanour, that disappears as quickly as it appeared. If he wasn’t so used to Reno by now - so aware of his micro-expressions and the slightest shifts in his gait - Rude might not have noticed…

But he notices almost everything when it comes to Reno.

“Probably wrapped up in Company bureaucracy.” It’s the most comforting thing he can offer, present-company considered, and neither of them are fool enough to delve too deep into the current situation amongst their leaders whilst out on a job. There will be time for that conversation later - and so, Rude shifts past Reno, dragging their new prisoner to his feet unceremoniously; ignoring the way he yelps in shock, pain, and fear, and nods towards the doorway to a storage room, where they could conduct the interrogation with no interruption. “You wanna take point on this one?”

Reno’s eyes spark, at that. 

If Rude doesn’t like it, he certainly doesn’t say anything about it.

“Thought you’d never ask.”

* * *

Reno drags out the interrogation far longer than he ought to; it’s not Rude’s place to interrupt, because the method sure as hell seems to be working, but that doesn’t make it any easier to watch. At first, he plays his part; cracks his knuckles every so often, and contemplates their prisoner’s hands as if he is _really_ thinking about breaking some of his fingers, from where he stands - stoic and silent behind Reno. In reality, his focus is on his Partner, and not their prisoner. The tension pulling at his shoulders each time he moves; the slight edge to his voice. The way his face looks - in this light, at least - even more gaunt than usual. 

It wouldn’t take a genius to realise something is clearly bothering him; Rude knows him well enough by now that, really, he thinks, he should have picked up on all of this sooner. Should have questioned it sooner, to boot. For all the time that they have now been partners - coming up on two years - he knows the signs that something is eating at Reno…

It was just usually the case that, of all people, he often spoke to Rude about it without prompting.

Rude wonders, perhaps, if it is to do with Veld’s absence from their missions, in recent months. The issue of why their Director, usually so hands on and involved in their work and day-to-day activities, has been so noticeably absent of late. With the growing threat from both Wutai and AVALANCHE, it seemed suspicious timing for their leader to suddenly be too busy to follow their actions with the same attention to detail as always. 

Tseng, as expected, was rising to the challenge of filling Veld’s shoes with a natural ease that suggested the man was made to lead the Turks - but the thing about shoes, Rude thinks, is that they can only fit one foot at a time… 

And these shoes, surely, still belonged to _Veld._

Whatever the issue, it is clear that something is weighing on Reno’s mind, as he terrorizes their prisoner. There’s an uncomfortable buzz to him - an energy that seems taught and wired. Anxious in a way that he rarely ever allows. 

Rude turns away when he notices the materia crackling in Reno’s signature weapon. 

There’s a lot he can stomach, but some things he would rather not see...

“Gotta make a call. Don’t do anything stupid.”

The lofty space of the factory bay is a welcome reprieve from the confined space of the storage room - where the air felt electric and heavy, and the walls had started to press in around him as that dark cloud over his Partner’s head had seemed to seep into the air itself. 

His phone screen seems unnecessarily bright. 

There is no one he can really call; Tseng will only want to know the status of the interrogation once it is complete, and Gun will be with the others, getting drunk, by now.

Rude takes a deep, steadying breath. Looks up to the rafters, high above, and waits.

It is a slow, _dragging_ twenty more minutes before Reno emerges - wiping the bloody mess from his weapon onto the hem of his own jacket.

“Got what we need. Should we head back, Partner?” Even someone who doesn't know him as well as Rude does, would surely notice how stilted he sounds. But he hasn’t expressed a desire yet, to talk about whatever’s bothering him, and so Rude doesn’t press; nods, silently, and falls into step behind him as if nothing is amiss. Reno talks when he is ready to - and Rude won’t press until he has given his Partner time enough to try to do exactly that.

The chopper ride back to headquarters is slow, and - for the first time in months - uncomfortable. Their silences of late had become easy things; casual, common parts of their daily routine. They could pass hours without saying a single word, sometimes; a nod here, a gesture there… requests for coffees, or files, without a single uttered sound. That this one is so tangible, unexpectedly tense, makes Rude shift uneasily in his seat, even as he angles the controls of the chopper to make the landing on the helipad atop the ShinRa building - even as they make their way back to the departmental floor, dumping their gear in their lockers, and making for their desks, to complete their mission reports.

He wants to say something but-

“Yo, you think the bar on the recreation level’ll still be open?” Reno mutters abruptly; startling Rude out of his own thoughts as he gathers up papers from his desk to begin drafting the bare bones of a report they can each type up, after.

“It’s past one AM,” he offers with a shrug - eyes focussing closely on Reno’s reaction. Watching him deflate at the utterance. Rude shifts the papers in his grasp, and stands. “But it’s not like we don’t know where they keep the beers.”

A sudden softening to those wired edges. Reno grins at him; and Rude thinks that he cannot believe that he had failed to notice just how _tired_ he looks. Worn out and exhausted in a way that Reno has never appeared before.

His features are still speckled with blood, but his expression is soft with gratitude, and Rude cannot bring himself to mind it. “Write our reports over a beer?” 

“What boss doesn’t know wont hurt him.”

And that is how they wind up, at almost two in the morning, sitting together at the bar on the employee recreational floor of the ShinRa building - stolen beers in their hands, and mission reports in the other. The large tree, encased in glass so as to be protected from harm - filtered clean, fresh air and refracted sunlight each and every day - towering over them, as they work.

Well. As Rude works. Reno has been twisting his beer around in his hands since they first sat down; feet propped up on the supports of Rude’s stool instead of his own, so that their legs are a messy tangle of limbs. Reno's eyes flicker occasionally to the report in front of him, half-written and now abandoned, but mostly he seems content to just... watch Rude. Something Rude can't quite get used to, even after all this time, because he _isn't doing anything..._ at least, nothing more interesting than knocking back the occasional mouthful of beer, and letting out a quiet little huff, as he realises he might need to rephrase some of the questions Reno apparently asked their interrogation subject during his absence from the room.

He had passed Reno a napkin, not long after they had taken up their spot at the bar - suggested he clean himself up a little, but it sits unused beneath his beer instead. Corners picked apart by restless fingertips and littered across the stained wood surface beneath.

He wants to say something - because whether or not Reno seems a little calmer now, in the dim evening lighting of the bar - now that it is just the two of them, easy and quiet - something is clearly bothering him. Whilst the unnecessarily morbid behaviour of the earlier evening seems to have passed, the memory of it has not - and surely, Rude thinks, neither has the cause. He has seen Reno wound up before; on edge, and harangued. Seen him act on emotional whims with a vindictive streak that bordered on malicious… but never without reason. He might display unnecessary force on a target - but not until they had done so to him first. He might inflict wounds that were so gratuitous that they could only be called sadistic, but only when the target had hurt one of their own.

He had once seen Reno shove his electro-mag rod through a guy's teeth, before activating its charge, all because the guy had clipped Rude’s left leg with a bullet during a raid. Barely a scratch, but enough in Reno’s book to warrant such payback.

But today… something is amiss. Weighing on his mind… only, he won't take his eyes off Rude - and the softness to his gaze contrasts so starkly to everything else Rude has witnessed from him throughout the night, that he can scarcely think of what he might say. Of what he is supposed to ask.

When he glances up, and their eyes briefly meet (his shades long-since discarded, thanks to the dim overhead lights), a little tug in his chest tells him to keep quiet.

A small thrum of a _'what if_ ' that he can't quite comprehend - a twisting in the pit of his stomach that has been happening with more and more frequency over their time as Partners - and it _scares him._

"I broke things off with that chick I was seein'." Reno says it abruptly. A loud, harsh confession released into the air.

Rude’s pen stops moving.

It isn’t what he had expected to be on Reno’s mind at all.

The weight of that _'what if'_ seems suddenly tangible, heavy in the atmosphere, but he doesn’t know what he is supposed to say.

"Huh." Rude swigs on his beer, and waits.

He didn’t speak about his romantic partners, much. Less and less, as time went on, Rude thought… though they seemed to exist, the subject was one Reno didn’t care to bring up lately, and which Rude had decided it was best not to ask about. There had been one or two that he had mentioned, offhandedly- but none seemed to last more than a handful of months, at best. None seemed to be any real source of emotional attachment.

"Wasn't workin' out." Reno continues, and his eyes never once leave Rude.

None of them deserved _this_ response. 

"If it ain't right." He wishes there was something else going on in the room - something to make it less obvious that he is trying _very_ hard not to look at Reno; his report surely not worthy of such a level of scrutiny. It feels as though there is something else, beneath all of it.

Something beneath the admission - a detail he is keeping to himself.

"Yeah, yo. She didn't get me at all - kept askin' for more of this, 'n more of that..."

"Yeah." Rude pulls his gaze down to his own hands. Puts his pen down, and focuses his attention on his beer; a finger grazing over the corner of the label as it begins to lift from the condensation gathered on the bottle’s surface.

"She kept askin' me to spend more time with her, an' here's me explainin' how my job is - and she knows, cuz I _told_ her-" Reno's foot is tapping against Rude's leg, now; restless and agitated, but he doesn't make comment. The weight of the room is heavy. He holds his tongue, and his breath, and waits. "But she still kept askin', yo. So I tell her she gets any free time I can spare, right?" 

Reno snorts out a laugh - eyes flickering away from Rude’s features, just for a brief moment, and Rude makes a note of the action through his peripherals. A note of the avoidance.

His tone, though he strives to keep it at its usual drawl, comes out a little fast. _Rushed_ . As if he had to push himself to say it before he could chicken out of doing so. "So she calls me up on how I spent my last night off with _you_ 'n not _her_ , when we hang out every day at work anyway, and then she's off on some crazy tangent about _that_." 

His shoulders are practically at his earlobes - wired tight with anxiety and agitation and _Shiva knows_ what else. "Like, _real crazy_. So I tell her she's nuts, and if I wanna spend my night off with you, I can do whatever I want/" 

Another flicker of his gaze, so brief Rude wonders if perhaps he imagined it - if it was perhaps just a blink he has misread. 

"And then she gets mad and tells me _I_ need to figure myself out, I tell her she can take that to someone who cares... then she's gone and... that's kinda... _it_."

There's a beat of silence, before Reno's shoulders lower again, and Rude finally dares to really _look_ . To really take in his expression, and body-language, and try to gauge the situation in-full; he is looking at Rude again, and there is an uncharacteristic furrow to his brows, and the bags under his eyes are not the kind Rude is used to seeing. Not the kind caused by late-night drinking, or too many late patrols. No. These are the result of something else. His whole frame seems to bear a weight that neither of them can see, but it remains real and crushing all-the-same - something Rude cannot fix, or even _place_. 

But Reno just seems content to keep looking at Rude - waiting for something, perhaps. Rude isn't sure that even _he_ knows what, however. 

His throat is dry when he swallows. "It's rough, huh?"

"Just… heavy. I dunno. She got me thinkin' about a lot of stuff, an’ it’s… hard." His tone suggests that Reno would much rather not be thinking about those things at all. Rude, now, can practically see the shape of the weight hanging over Reno, and feels… anxious. 

_He knows that weight._

Knows it because he feels it, every time Reno looks at him _in a particular way._ Every time Reno makes a flirtatious comment, or watches him wordlessly across their desks. Every time he catches himself staring at that trio of freckles on Reno’s collarbone. Every time he finds himself giving an inch, and another, until Reno is closer than anyone has ever been allowed to get-

He averts his gaze back to the paperwork in front of him; pushes those thoughts out of his mind, where they belong, and knocks back the last of his beer in one quick gulp. 

Closer than Sal ever got. Closer than family.

_Too close_ , already.

"I'll go get the whiskey. Sounds like you need it." He has a feeling that whiskey might be a bad call; but he needs to do something with his hands. Do something that means he doesn’t have to look at Reno, whose eyes seem suddenly trained on him; waiting for some kind of reaction… waiting for something neither of them can put a name to. _Not yet_ ; maybe never.

Rude survives in this job by using what he knows; walls, boundaries. Distances that keep him safe, because even letting someone like _Sal_ close enough to be considered a ‘friend’ as well as a colleague had almost _broken him_ , when the worst had happened. When he had gotten that call, and seen that black sleeve around his file. Letting his mother back in, after so many years, too - only to find that she was sick, that she had sought him out to make amends, before the end. To clear her own conscience… much as he knew he was glad that she was back at all, however fleeting their time together might be - every time he let his walls down, _every single time_ , he gets burned.

In the line of work in which he and Reno thrive, he knows, getting close is asking for trouble.

It would be asking to get burned.

He sucks in a breath as he pours two fingers of Wutai's finest into two small glasses.

_They are already too close._

Reno smiles at him, weakly, from across the bar, as Rude slides the drink into his hand. “Haven’t got any gil to tip you with, bartender.”

Despite his expression - despite the softness to his gaze, and the way it lingers on Rude a little too long - Reno diverts his attention down to his drink; swirls it around, and takes a long gulp.

The moment passes. 

A window of opportunity closing, a weight lifting, and Rude lets out a breath he didn’t know he was holding.

Pretends his shoulders don’t suddenly feel heavier in an entirely different way.

“It’s on the house. Looks like you need it.” 

_Neither of them are willing to be the one who risks getting burned._

Reno holds up his glass, to toast a successful mission; and Rude, knowing that this is what they do - and how they will always be - mirrors the action.

**Author's Note:**

> Should I just retitle this whole series 'Slow Burn of DEATH', or what...?
> 
> Next part coming soon... and then it's time for that tasty Before Crisis angst ;D
> 
> Just to note I still don't have an official beta-reader, so despite my best proof-reading efforts, some errors may have slipped through! 
> 
> Love y'all! And thanks for reading!


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